


In a Dream, I'm a Different Me

by Tennyo



Series: In Dreams [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Castiel, Dean Cooks, Dean tries to avoid everything, Dreamwalking, Insomnia, Lucid Dreaming, M/M, Rutting, Top Dean, after 9x19, before 9x20, tired Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-13
Updated: 2014-05-13
Packaged: 2018-01-24 15:28:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1610060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tennyo/pseuds/Tennyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Since their last... encounter, Dean’s been avoiding contacting Cas, for Reasons.<br/>But when Cas shows up in his next dream exhausted, he just has to help.<br/>some parts won't make much sense without Part One, but you can skip parts 2 and 3 if you want to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In a Dream, I'm a Different Me

**Author's Note:**

> The first night is the same night as Part 3. Perhaps Gabe wanted to make sure he had uninterrupted Sammy time, and ensured Dean slept?
> 
> Thanks to MollyC and Elizabeth1985 for helping unravel my ramblings!
> 
> Title from Nine Inch Nails, ["Even Deeper"](http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/nineinchnails/evendeeper.html)

Dean doesn’t know what to do with himself. He’s been hanging out in the library, debating whether or not to call Cas. He kind of doesn’t want to. Sam had a point when he said Dean was probably enjoying killing the vampires too much. It was less enjoyment, and more like scratching an itch. Not like he wanted to discuss that with Sam, though. Bad enough he already gets that look like Dean is starting to lose it. If he knew how the Mark was making him edgy? Nope.

Add that to whatever he and Cas have going… That’s a whole other level of what the fuck. He wonders for the umpteenth time if it counts if you had sex in a dream. A very lucid dream. Cas has been busy with all his angel ducklings following him around since then, so there hasn’t been much time to… talk. Not like he wanted to have _that_ conversation… But he doubts they’d be able to, since he hasn’t been sleeping well lately. When he does, it’s usually in fitful bursts.

As for calling Cas… Except for that first morning when he confirmed that yes, he’d been dreamwalking, and he remembered _everything,_ fondly... Dean’s been avoiding talking to the feathery dude. Sam was the one to call him to say that Gabriel was alive and was the source of Metatron’s power-up. Dean just couldn’t do it.

THAT was another mind-fuck, Gabriel being alive and talking to Sam. He wonders briefly if angels can read each other’s frequencies… Nope, not going there, thinking of someone peeking in on what they’d done… just NO.

He grabs what's left of the fifth of whatever brand whiskey he bought on the way to the bunker. Maybe he should finish this in his room. Almost there, he hears Sam heading back from the shower, and speeds up to just manage to get out of his brother’s way before getting a lecture about drinking in his room. Pressing against the door, he hears Sam’s giant bare feet slapping across the floor to his own room. He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

Quickly, Dean gets ready for bed, stripping down to a t-shirt and shorts, and brushing his teeth at the little sink in his room. His sheets need washing anyway, so a shower can wait until tomorrow. Tonight, he just wants to pass out and try to sleep. Taking another swig off his bottle, he crawls under the covers, puts on his headphones, and chooses a folder on his MP3 player. Between Sam and Charlie, he has quite a nice collection of pirated music on the thing.

He scrolls through folders labeled in alphabetical order by band name. Hmmm… Rush? Maybe. Scrolling until he gets to Led Zeppelin, he decides his favorite band is just what he needs. Turning up the volume a few notches, he settles into a comfortable position, shuts off the light, and closes his eyes to the opening notes of “Kashmir”. About an hour later, he drifts to sleep with “Black Dog” playing.

Waking up the next morning face-down, the cord of his headphones is apparently trying to choke him. As usual when he falls asleep listening to music, the player’s battery has died. After unwrapping the cord from around his throat, he reaches down off the edge of the bed for the charger. Luckily, it takes the same plug as his phone, so he only needs one. He rolls over and looks at the clock to realize he actually got a full night’s sleep. Bonus, no dreams, that he can remember anyway. With a yawn, he reaches down to give his nuts a scratch and finds morning wood. Grinning to himself, he thinks about how a nice, hot shower can help with that, and he stumbles down the hall for his favorite wake-up routine. Nothing says “good morning” like a slick hand in the shower. Especially with the awesome water pressure they get here in the bunker. If he thinks about blue eyes and a deep gravelly voice, no one but him and the shower wall has to know.

After drying and getting dressed, coffee is next on his list of morning must-haves, and he gets the pot going before rummaging through the fridge to start breakfast. By the time Sam zombie-marches into the kitchen, Dean’s pulling a baking pan lined with crispy bacon out of the oven. Hey, you can cook a whole pound at once that way. Learned that nifty trick from a cooking show.

Sam stays focused on his task as he ruins perfectly good coffee with flavored creamer. Unless there’s alcohol going in the cup, there’s no need for anything extra, let alone that frou-frou shit. Slurping from his own cooling cup, he slides a perfectly folded omelette onto a plate. Nodding with satisfaction, he re-greases his favorite, well-seasoned skillet and pours in some more beaten egg for Sam’s omelette, pulling a bowlful of chopped veggies the giant hippie prefers closer to the stove.

They fall into a companionable silence, Dean focusing on the eggs in the pan, Sam on his coffee. Sam’s about halfway finished with his cup when Dean settles a plated omelet in front of him, then goes back for his own, and a plate each of stacked toast and bacon. While Sam goes for the silverware and napkins, Dean tops off their coffees before settling in at the table. When Sam sits back down, he looks at the spread, then at his brother with an incredulous, almost worried look.

“You alright, Dean?”

Dean scrunches his eyebrows together, cocking his head back and looking back at Sam, confused. “What’s the matter? I just cooked breakfast, not that big of a deal.”

The creases in Sam’s forehead shift as he goes from concerned puppy to raising his eyebrows. “You haven’t cooked like this since…” He catches himself, and looks down at the table, afraid to finish the sentence.

 _Oh, right._ Dean tries to shrug it off, picks up his fork and begins cutting into his extra-cheesy omelet. He does not want to think about dead teenage prophets or marks burned into arms right now either. He shovels in a mouthful of fluffy egg and melted cheese, and reaches for a slice of toast.

“Eat before it gets cold.”

What should have been an awesome breakfast goes a little tasteless as he chews and swallows. It has been a while since he’s really felt the urge to actually cook anything. Biting into a slice of bacon, he lets his jaw work automatically while he thinks over his mood this morning. For once, he got a decent night’s sleep, no nightmares. Or… other interruptions… Taking a bite of toast, he concentrates on the texture instead of thinking about a certain angel. He didn’t finish the bottle he took to bed with him, stopping after that one mouthful before sleep. He didn’t wake up bleary or hungover as a result. Even the twitchiness he’s been feeling from the Mark is relatively muted this morning. Although now that he’s thinking about it, he can’t help but flex the muscles of his right forearm.

Looking down, he realizes he’s automatically finished half of his omelet without even tasting it. Putting down his fork and reaching for his coffee cup, he watches his little brother shove egg stuffed with greenery down his gullet.

Sam notices and stops, swallowing before saying, “Thanks, Dean. It’s really good. I appreciate it, really.”

Waving away gruffly at the earnest expression on Sam’s face, Dean grabs another slice of toast, flips a chunk of omelet on it, adds a slice of bacon, then folds it over to take a big bite. Grunting with satisfaction, he finds he can enjoy the rest of his meal without guilt deadening the sensation of good food. Finishing before Sam, he takes another swig of coffee before finally answering the question from earlier.

“I dunno, Sammy, just felt like cookin’. I got a good night sleep,” he waits until the last bite of omelet is forked into his brother’s mouth, “and I had a shower-date with Rosy Palm and her five sisters.”

As expected, Sam chokes, making a bitchface as he tries to breathe. Dean just smirks behind his mug.

When Sam can finally breathe, he says, “Dude, gross! While I’m eating? Seriously?”

Satisfied with his brother’s embarrassment, he shrugs, “It’s a natural act, Sammy. Nothing to be ashamed of.”

With an even bitchier version of his bitchface, Sam takes his plate to the sink. “But do you have to talk about it while we’re eating?”

Dean just sighs and drinks his coffee, watching Sam dig around in the fridge until he produces a jar of organic jam or something. As he comes back to the table with jar and butter knife in hand, Dean leans back and says, “I think Gabe’s starting to rub off on you, little brother.”

The jar slips from Sam’s fingers to land on the tabletop with a thud. “What?” Sam says, an octave higher than normal, jaw tensing as he scrambles for the jam now trying to roll off the table.

Gesturing with his almost empty mug, Dean elaborates. “Sweet tooth, man. Jam on toast, sweetened creamer in your coffee, ice cream on the drive back? I know we’ve been trying to get information about Metatron, but that trickster’s sweet-tooth must be affecting you subconsciously or something.”

Clearing his throat, Sam picks up the plate with the last few slices of toast, along with his jam and coffee. “I’m gonna finish this in the other room.” And without another word, he turns and heads straight out the door.

 _Huh._ Dean thinks he needs to ask Cas about prolonged exposure to Gabriel the next time he talks to him. The last thing Sam needs is to start picking up that guy’s bad habits. _Oh, you mean like doing something stupid to yourself in the name of the greater good?_ He frowns at the thought. _Shut up,_ he tells himself, rising to clear the food away.

\--------------------

The rest of the day is spent on research, trying to find Abaddon, and digging through endless stacks of Men of Letters files. Sam scans promising papers into his computer for later study, and Dean has a headache from trying to read the chicken-scratch some of these guys had. Didn’t they all learn fancy writing back then?

He’s in some kind of trance at this point, not reading, not really focusing on anything, when Sam shoves a sandwich under his nose. Jerking back, he almost strikes out at his brother, and it takes him a while to realize he’s being offered sustenance.

“Hey, your eyes were glazed over. Take a break, because you're really not getting anything done like this.”

Sam is wearing his concerned puppy face, the annoying bitch. But it was nice to bring a sandwich, so Dean lets it go. Peeling back the bread to see what’s in it, he notices it’s dry and considers whether mustard or mayo would be better with ham and cheese. Sam’s already munching down his at the other end of the table, so Dean stretches his legs, and moseys into the kitchen, sandwich in hand. After having doctored his sandwich and opening a beer, he decides his butt’s a bit too stiff to sit again. He leans against the counter and eats standing up.

\--------------------

Later in the evening, Sam’s already stumbled off to bed, and Dean’s bloodshot eyes stare into the glow of a laptop, looking for atmospheric signs of demons. Finding nothing out of the ordinary, he lowers the screen, pulling closer the almost-empty bottle of cheap whiskey. Just an inch left, might as well finish it off. Upending the bottle, he finishes it with a few gulps, and then rests his forehead on the warm surface of the computer. Closing his eyes, he thinks he’ll get up in just a couple of minutes, and go to bed himself.

_Go to bed, Dean._

_Wha?_ “Five more minutes,” he grumbles.

_No, NOW, Dean. Sleeping like this isn’t comfortable._

He recognizes the deep timbre and the commanding tone and thinks, _Cas?_ Jerking awake, he wipes drool from his cheek, then uses his sleeve to wipe it from the cooling surface of the laptop. Rolling his neck to relieve the stiffness, he thinks the angel has a point. And that’s when it hits him. He’d fallen asleep. And Cas said to go to bed. Said to go to bed. _Bed._

Flushing at the implication, he quickly turns off the lights, does his nightly scrub-down, and slips under the covers to try to sleep. Except now he’s wide awake. Rolling over onto his side, he punches his pillow and tries to get comfortable. And he realizes he forgot to wash the sheets today. Sighing, he figures that one more night won’t kill him, and rolls onto his other side.

Lying there, his mind won’t seem to shut off. He goes for the music, but apparently last night’s strangulation loosened a wire, because only one side has sound now. He sings under his breath, picks at his comforter, and tries to relax into the memory foam. Eventually, what feels like an eternity later, he’s finally able to tune out the noise in his brain and sleep.

\--------------------

“Dean.”

Cas startles him, just like last time. Except he realizes what’s happening now, and reaches to flip on the light.

“Really? In the bunker again? I’d think you’d go for a change in scenery, Cas.”

The angel standing at the foot of the bed looks… limp, wilted. “I don’t decide where we meet, Dean. Your subconscious chose your room, perhaps because you see it as a safe place.”

Dean sits up to get a good look at Cas, notices the weary lines on his face, the way it seems to sag from exhaustion.

With a sigh, Cas raises a hand. “I can change the scenery if you prefer. Where would you like to be, Dean?” Even his voice sounds tired, almost like he’s talking through a cheap speaker.

“Are you alright, Cas?”

Closing his eyes and taking a deep sigh, Cas slumps down onto the foot of the bed. “I just haven’t had a proper chance to rest.”

Worried, Dean scoots closer. “Wait, are you sleeping again already?”

Turning his head to face Dean, Cas says, “No, but even angels require occasional downtime. Especially in our current… reduced state.” Sighing, he looks down at his hands. “With everything going on, I haven’t been able to find the time.”

Leaning forward, Dean places a hand on Cas’ shoulder. “But you’ve got the time now?” Cas nods. “Can you rest while dreamwalking?” Another nod. “Then let’s get you comfortable. Come on.”

Dean slips out of bed, and helps the angel remove his coat and suit jacket, folding them onto a chair. He debates on whether to remove the shirt and slacks, because he’s not… expecting… _that._ But Cas makes the decision for him, loosening his belt and opening the fly on his slacks, letting them flump down at his feet.

“Jeez, Cas, shoes first.” Kneeling down, he helps remove Cas’ shoes, sliding the pants off with them. He spends extra time tucking the shoes neatly under the chair and folding the dress pants, not wanting to seem eager to see Cas undressed. When he turns around, Cas is standing there in boxers and socks, trying to fold his white shirt.

“No, it’ll just wrinkle. Give it here.”

Carefully draping the shirt across the back of the chair, he turns to see Cas swaying slightly on his feet. “C’mon, buddy. Let’s get you settled under the covers, so you can relax.”

He leads around the foot of the bed, pulling down the other side of the comforter and encouraging the angel to slide on in. Tucking the covers up around Cas’ shoulders, he makes his way back around the foot of the bed and climbs back in.

Turning onto his right side, Dean smiles as Cas mirrors his position. “Better?”

“Yes, thank you, Dean.” Cas returns his smile, placing his hand in Dean’s, which had been curled up near his chest.

That simple action makes Dean’s heart lurch, and he looks to see Cas’ blue eyes gazing affectionately into his own. He thinks about how it took so long to get even this far, and how it might have been longer if Cas’ grace wasn’t… Nope, not going there, not now, when a relatively happy angel is next to him. If he can find a way to actually trap and wrap his hands around that douche Metatron’s neck...

Cas scoots closer until their foreheads are touching. “Dean.”

“What?”

“You’re thinking very loudly.”

“Sorry.”

Rubbing their noses together, Cas sighs. “I should apologize as well. I simply wished to allow you a more comfortable sleeping position, but it seems you had trouble resting again after I woke you up.”

Dean replies with a huff, “Nah, you probably saved me a ton of aches and pains, so thanks.”

This draws a full grin from Cas, all teeth and gums and crinkled eyes. Leaning forward, he presses a soft kiss to Dean’s lips. They kiss for a couple of moments, nothing more than the sounds of happy sighs and kissing filling the room. Dean pulls back and waits for Cas to open his eyes.

“Cas, um, you… You realize that the next time we meet in like, real life, I’m not gonna…”

“Yes, Dean, I understand. You're not comfortable with open displays of affection. Not to mention the false notion of a decrease in masculinity by being seen as romantically involved towards a male-”

“Cas!” Dean closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to remain calm. “I guess what I’m trying to get at is… Why is this so much easier here?” He watches as the angel squints, processing the thought.

“I believe it’s much easier for you to be open with your feelings, because in this liminal space, you can be as you like, not as you normally are.” His hand comes up to caress Dean’s face, and he gazes upon him affectionately. “When I dreamwalk with you, it is nearly the same as a lucid dream, and you are more able to express yourself.” He kisses Dean’s forehead, “And I will make a point of not treating you any differently in public, unless you wish.”

Dean can feel his face warm, unable to believe what his angel is willing to do for him. “Um, yeah, thanks, Cas.” He clears his throat, not sure where to look.

“Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to take advantage of the fact that right now, I can be openly affectionate with you.”

This makes Dean chuckle softly, and he says, “Such a sweet-talker, Cas.”

He presses their lips together, reaching up to get a handful of hair at the nape of Cas’ neck. What starts out as simple, wet meetings of lips slowly becomes open-mouthed, and more heated. They’re taking their time, but when Cas grabs his hip and presses their erections together, Dean can’t help but whimper in the back of his throat, grinding forward and pressing his tongue even deeper into Cas’ mouth. The angel just rolls his hips forward, pressing flush against Dean, and tightens his grip.

The next time Dean has to come up for air, he looks at Cas, noting his flushed skin, the half-lidded eyes, lips swollen and pink from kissing. The fact that _he_ can do this to this angel, that he’s _allowed_ to do this, just arouses him more. Cas looks up at him, and the weight of that midnight-blue stare leaves him breathless.

“Cas,” he whispers on an exhale of air.

Cas blinks slowly and takes in the sight of Dean’s face, probably very similar to his own, before replying, “Yes, Dean?” almost as softly.

“I thought you wanted to rest?”

A slow smile curls up the corners of his mouth. “As long as I’m not doing much of the work, it can still be considered ‘resting’, wouldn’t you say?” With that, he grinds their hips together once more, before rolling onto his back, tucking his free hand under his head.

Taking that as a challenge, Dean slides a knee between his legs, leaning over him and trailing a kiss up his neck. With a moaning, satisfied sigh, Cas tilts his head to better expose his throat. Taking advantage of his chance to explore, Dean starts by nibbling an earlobe, trailing the tip of his tongue along his jaw, then down to nibble at Cas’ adam’s apple, which bobs as Cas swallows. Trailing a wet tongue to that place he found last time, that dip between collarbone and shoulder, he nips and sucks on it until Cas is growling and bucking against him. Pulling back, he sees a lovely red mark. Too bad this is just a dream, because it would be nice to really mark Cas as his.

“Hey Cas,” Dean whispers, nuzzling an ear.

“Yes, Dean?” Cas breathes, shuddering as Dean nibbles the ticklish parts of his ear.

“You said I can make this dream into anything I want, right?” He scrapes his stubble across the red mark he left on Cas’ neck.

“Ah, ye- yes. I can assist with it, but this dream is yours.”

“Then I want you to be only as strong as you were when you were a human.” He pulls up on his elbows to look down at his squirming angel. “You can even fall asleep if you want, but I don’t want you pushing me around like last time, okay?”

With a beatific smile, Cas reaches up, combing his fingers through Dean’s hair and then cupping his cheek. “As you wish.”

Growling, Dean grinds their hips together, and hungrily kisses Cas, sucking the angel's tongue into his mouth as he grabs both hands by the wrist, pressing them into the pillow just over Cas' head. "Then show me. Try to pull your hands free."

Cas writhes and squirms, trying to yank his hands from Dean's grip. Dean rises up on his knees to avoid possible groin injury. After a few moments, Cas gives up, panting from the effort. The fact that Cas would willingly do this for him makes him temporarily light-headed, and he kisses his angel deeply. Releasing his arms results in fingers stroking his back, tickling along his sides, and grabbing his rear. The grab gets rewarded with another press of hips, and a slow grind of cocks only separated by two layers of very thin fabric.

Last time, Cas was mostly quiet, but this time Cas lets out a strangled gasp at the feeling of their cocks rubbing together. Now that Dean thinks about it, he even tastes just a little different, too. Less like a thunderstorm and more like the breeze from an ocean.

 _I could have had this months ago,_ he thinks, pressing his face into the crook of Cas’ neck. _If only I hadn’t listened to Zeke-_ Gadreel, _then_ …

“Dean, you’re thinking too loudly again. Just let it go.” Cas pets Dean’s hair. “You did what you thought was best at the time, and I don’t hold it against you. I learned many things about being human as Steve, Gas-n-Sip sales associate.” He pushes Dean’s head up until he’s looking him in the eye. “We have now, so let’s make the best with what we have, alright?” Dean closes his eyes tightly and nods, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Kiss me, Dean.”

And he does, he kisses him desperately, like an emotional dam has finally burst. He feels things he’d never admit to in the light of day, outside their little dream world. But here, he pours it all into his bruising kiss, the way his hands roam all over Cas’ body, the grinding of their hips. Cas responds with mewling noises, his own exploring hands, and a leg that wraps around Dean’s hip, trying to keep them pressed tightly together.

When their mouths separate, both of them gasping for air, Dean trails a wet tongue down Cas’ chest, flicking at nipples, nibbling the mole right above his right nipple. Trailing down, he notes new ticklish places, feeling the muscles of Cas’ abdomen twitch and flex. He stops to suck another mark on the dip above a hipbone, tracing the Enochian symbols that protected Cas when he first turned human. Turning his head, he nuzzles the ridge of flesh tenting his boxers and feels it twitch, eliciting a groan.

Yanking on the waistband of Cas’ boxers, he prompts the angel to lift his hips so he can pull them down past his knees. Face-to-face with Cas’ prominent, leaking erection, Desn tries to psych himself into putting it in his mouth. _I can do this._ Swallowing hard and taking a deep breath, he gets ready to move when he hears, “Dean.”

He looks up to find Cas looking at him, gesturing for him to come back up to face height. After he crawls back up, Cas places a hand on his face and pulls him close to peck at his lips and say, “You don’t have to do that.”

“But…” Another kiss silences him.

“I’d rather have your mouth right here, Dean.” And with that, he licks into Dean’s mouth.

With a relieved sigh, Dean relaxes into the kiss, and Cas pushes down on Dean’s underwear, making it past his hips before needing assistance. Both of them now naked, when he presses their hips together, they can feel the touch of hard flesh pressing and rubbing, and they both shudder and gasp.

It isn’t long until Cas grabs the back of Dean’s head and bites his earlobe, whispering hotly, “I want you inside of me.”

Groaning, Dean leans back to make sure he heard correctly. Cas simply nods and rolls his hips, spreading his knees further apart. The thought of being buried deep inside Cas… A breath punches out of him, and he rests his head on the angel’s shoulder.

“Just imagine what you need is in the nightstand, and open the drawer.”

Closing his eyes, Dean imagines a bottle of lube. When he opens the drawer, it’s right where he thought it should be. Bottle in hand, Dean looks back down at Cas, asking if he’s sure. A roll of the hips and a serious stare bordering on smitey lets him know that yes, he is very sure. He leans down for a kiss, popping the top one-handed and squeezing some of the liquid into his palm before setting the bottle aside. Spreading it around with his fingers, he reaches for Cas’ cock, spreading the slickness, enjoying the bucking and gasping it wrings from the angel below him. Next, he traces a line down his balls, cupping them when he stops to massage his perineum. This draws a groan and he feels his own balls tighten in response. The whole time, he peppers small kisses on his neck, jaw and lips, occasionally smothering some of the noises with his mouth. Cas isn’t loud, necessarily, but he’s definitely more vocal in this semi-human state.

Slick fingers slip between butt-cheeks to spread lube around Cas’ pucker. Watching his face, he sees those eyebrows draw together with an analytical look.

Pausing in his movements, Dean asks, “Hey, you doin’ alright?”

“Yes, I was just expecting… a different sensation. Please continue.”

Dean doesn’t even want to know, and simply pulls Cas’ lower lip in between his teeth while massaging the sensitive opening with a finger while pressing his thumb against the perineum. That gets a good whine from Cas, and Dean rewards it with a long kiss. He presses his hips in, feeling his cock slide against Cas’ lubed erection. He does everything slowly, the pressing and rubbing, until Cas squirms for more. Kissing deeply and pressing his hips in firmly, he slowly slips in the tip of his middle finger. He can feel Cas squeezing tightly, so he whispers for him to relax. When he does, he rewards with another press to the perineum as he slides the finger further in.

Always in motion, he kisses and teases, presses and rubs, until Cas seems comfortable with the first finger. Then he kisses Cas hard, grinding his hips, as he presses the second finger inside. He can feel Cas’ hole spasm, so he stops, massaging his balls with the heel of his hand, whispering praise against his mouth. When he’s settled, he slowly slides his fingers in and out, twisting and stretching. Noticing that certain look on Cas’ face again, he pauses.

“What.”

“I… When I did this to you, I understood the mechanics of it, but I… Isn’t this supposed to be more pleasurable?”

Dean chuckles, and wiggles the fingers inside Cas. “If you recall, I wasn’t really having that much fun until you found _this._ ” He promptly presses the pads of both fingers against his prostate, and he watches the angel’s eyes cross as he squeaks while his body jerks. Dean has to bite his cheek to keep from laughing, because he made the dude _squeak._ Cas is breathing quickly with a death-grip on Dean’s shoulder, eyes wide. Dean just smirks and does it again, and this time Cas lets out a shuddering moan, his eyes rolling into the back of his head.

Cas definitely gets more into it after that, pressing down against Dean’s hand and rolling his hips. It takes less time to adjust to the third finger, and soon he’s thrashing, begging for Dean to do more. Slowly continuing to slide his fingers in and out of Cas, he settles on his knees, reaching with his spare hand for the lube. Squirting the cold liquid directly on his cock, he spreads it with his hand before leaning over Cas.

With a kiss to get his attention, he says, “I’m gonna take this part real slow, and I need you to do what I ask, alright?” Cas nods, lickng his lips and panting. God, he looks so fucked already, hair a mess, lips slick and reddened, his body splotchy with kiss marks, and flushed with excitement and exertion. Dean has to close his eyes to control his own throbbing erection.

Fingers still inside, he presses the head of his cock against Cas’ perineum, massaging it as he slowly withdraws his fingers. When just the tips of his fingers are still inserted, Dean tells him to take a deep breath and hold it. In one smooth movement, he tells Cas to exhale, as he swaps the tips of his fingers for the head of his cock. He grins at Cas’ wide-eyed reaction, and the adjustment to his girth doesn’t take long before Dean is slowly sliding all the way in.

He has to close his eyes for a moment, because feeling that tight heat makes him want to keep going. When he opens his eyes, Cas is staring at him in awe, and he can’t help from blush at the attention. After wiping excess lube onto the comforter, (it’s not like he’ll have to clean it up anyway, it’s a dream) he slides his palms up Cas’ hips, along his sides, and down his arms, then he intertwines the fingers of both hands. Pressing their bodies flush together, he kisses Cas, grinding his hips in a circle relentlessly until the angel is whining and bucking for more.

Dean slowly withdraws until just the head is still inside, and pushes back in. Cas wraps his legs around him, and surrenders to the slow, driving pace Dean sets, and he makes sure to press his belly down so that Cas’ cock gets the added friction. He loves hearing the sounds Cas makes. The gasps, moans, pants and whines just make him harder, and when he feels that familiar tingle at the base of his spine, he releases the angel’s hands to reach under his shoulders so he can pound harder and deeper inside.

Cas just clings to his back, fingers digging into his shoulder blades as he begs and pleads for him to not stop, for more. As Dean’s balls draw up and he can feel the finish line around the bend, he remembers Cas might need a helping hand and squeezes the throbbing length, causing Cas to seize and groan, spilling into his hand and on his belly. The tightening of Cas’ muscles pushes him over the edge, and he’s soon shooting into him, moaning his name into his shoulder.

They’re both shaking as they come down from their release, and Cas eventually lets go with his arms and legs, flopping loose and relaxed on the bed. Dean flops over onto his side, thinking he needs a towel. When he reaches for one, he finds it exactly where he imagined it would be. He could get used to this lucid dreaming business. After carefully wiping off his own hand and Cas’ belly, he slides the towel between the angel’s legs to catch any dribbles from behind.

Pulling up the covers over them both, he snuggles Cas into his side, sliding an arm under his neck as he helps Cas rest his head on his shoulder.

“Sleep, my angel,” he whispers, as he presses kisses to Cas’ forehead, each one filled with the words he can’t say out loud. Soon, Cas’ breathing evens out, and Dean takes his turn at watching over him for a change. He stays awake as long as he can, afraid it will all dissolve as soon as he drifts off, wanting to give Cas this chance to rest, knowing it’s only due to his request of power limitation that the angel can actually sleep.   

By the time Dean finally drifts off, his nose is buried deep in Cas’ hair, a leg is thrown over him, and his arms are wrapped protectively around him.

When Dean wakes up, he finds himself in a similar position, wrapped around a pillow. Except this pillow doesn’t smell like Cas, and he can’t give a damn pillow a good-morning kiss. Rolling over, he notices his shorts are crusty again, big surprise. Eh, he’ll just toss them in with the sheets.

After sliding out of bed, he strips it, and changes into sweatpants after peeling off his shorts and a quick scrub-down with a washcloth at the sink. Stepping out of his room with an armload of linens, he sees Sam coming back from the showers with two freaking towels. Jeez, he should just get a haircut already. His little brother’s such a girl. They mumble hello to each other as they head in opposite directions.


End file.
